


Reverse Crypt Scene 1.0

by amagicbeyond



Series: Reverse Crypt Scenes [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1679192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amagicbeyond/pseuds/amagicbeyond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas rounds the corner and there, finally, is Dean, but it’s Dean all wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reverse Crypt Scene 1.0

**Author's Note:**

> Written before 9x18. Not a prediction, just an idea that got stuck in my head. :)

Cas rounds the corner and there, finally, is Dean, but it’s Dean all wrong.

Momentary relief gives way to something far more insidious and frightening. Dean stands as if waiting for him, a hand on his hip and the kind of smile on his face Cas hasn’t seen there in months. The stance is all wrong. The smile, right here, right now, is all wrong. Dean releases the smallest breath of air, an amused little sound that’s all wrong, all wrong.

“This isn’t you,” is the first thing that comes out of Cas’ mouth.

Dean’s smile grows wider, and he saunters closer. “Can’t put anything past you, can I, angel?”

His voice is wrong too, the timbre higher, a different lilt. Something clenches tight in Cas’ chest. “Abaddon,” he growls, the remnants of his stolen grace firing up, burning through his veins. Dean’s shirt is torn, and Cas can see where his tattoo has been slashed, a firm and nasty cut that tore his only protection against her in two.

That shouldn’t have been his only protection. I should have been here.

He turns the anger he feels toward the demon before him. He engages his angel blade, and lifts it between them. Abaddon doesn’t back away.

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you,” Cas says, his voice low and even. “That angel trumps Knight of Hell.”

Abaddon smirks, and rests her wrist casually on his left shoulder, her other hand still braced against her hip in a most un-Dean-like manner. She smells of sulfur and blood and life in decay. “Oh, but Castiel,” she says, and Cas finds it difficult to meet her eyes, green eyes so familiar, that have never looked at him with the kind of superiority he sees there now. “Didn’t you hear? Knight of Hell plus Mark of Cain-” she pushes back the sleeve of the arm that rests on Cas’ shoulder, and he can see the evil sigil glowing red against Dean’s freckled skin. “Well, that might just trump God himself.”

Without warning, she flicks her wrist and Cas’ angel blade flies from his grasp.

He lifts his chin.

“Now,” she says. Her forearm presses against his throat and Cas finds himself pushed up against the wall with uncanny strength. He stands stiffly, refusing to struggle. “I hear you’re hard to kill, Castiel. But you know what?” She pulls back, far enough to look him up and down. “Stolen grace, your vessel barely holding it together – seems like a good a time to try.”

Then her face – Dean’s face – is close again, inches from his, and it’s the first time Cas can remember feeling small in comparison to his human friend. “What do you think poor Dean will say when he finds out he killed his precious guardian angel with his own bare hands?” Her arm presses deeper into his throat, and if Cas needed breath he would have been gasping. He might be imagining it, but the Mark of Cain feels hot against his skin. Abaddon smiles. “Or maybe he won’t care. He hasn’t cared about much of anything lately. Except, of course, killing me.”

A sick feeling takes over Cas’ stomach. Dean would care. Dean will always care. But he can’t deny the truth of her words. If I had been with him – if I had stopped him taking the Mark -

Abaddon spoke the truth. Cas was afraid that Dean was already lost to him.

She moves faster than he could have anticipated, and blinding pain flashes through his cheek and his palms as her strike sends him hard to the floor.

He shouldn’t be feeling so much pain. He stays, crouching, tasting copper on his tongue.

“Come on, angel,” she says in Dean’s voice, and it hurts more than Cas cares to say. She circles him, Dean’s boots tracking mud on the stone floor. “Get up. Impress me.”

Cas gets up.

“Dean-” he says. She hits him again. This time he spits blood.

“He can’t hear you,” Abaddon says, her voice a tease that makes the anger roar through him again.

But we’ve been here before.

Shame and sorrow again, for the pain he caused him, for Dean on his knees with a battered face, reaching out to him in desperate supplication. Every part of Cas’ body aches. Everything within him screams.

He stands, with difficulty.

“Dean,” he says again, and his voice cracks a little. “It’s me.”

Cas lets the pain of her next strike feed him, and this time he stays on his feet. “We’re family.”

She hits him again. She’s angry now. Cas’ head hits the wall with a cracking sound that makes him see stars. He blinks, furiously trying to focus on Dean’s face. Not on the ugly sneer Abaddon wears, but the eyes, Dean’s tired, laughing, tearful, wonderful eyes.

Abaddon grabs him roughly by the lapels of a trenchcoat that isn’t his, and draws from Dean’s waistband a blade made of bone and broken teeth.

“Why don’t we see how this lovely little dagger works on angels?” she says, tilting the First Blade up under Cas’s chin. “I’ve been meaning to give it a test run.”

He ignores her.

“Dean, you asked me what broke the connection,” he manages, blood trickling hot down his forehead. “When Naomi had me in her grasp. I told you I didn’t know.”

Abaddon pauses in her assault, her confusion evident.

“I was lying. I knew, I just didn’t understand it at the time.”

Dean’s face wears a frown.

“I understand now,” Cas says, talking fast, daring to hope. The tablet, the spell – he understands so much. “Dean, I understand. It was you.”

Those green eyes flash with something familiar.

“You broke the connection.”

Dean’s fist is still clenched in Cas’ trenchcoat, the First Blade poised at his throat. Cas searches those eyes he knows better than his own. Dean, please-

Abaddon’s laugh bursts out of Dean’s lips. “Baby, you’re going to have to try harder than-”

Cas grabs her face and kisses her.

Cas kisses Dean.

It’s a hard kiss, a shocking kiss, but a kiss full of feeling. Dean’s lips part in a gasp beneath his, and he softens his grip, marveling for a moment how those lips seem like such a perfect fit for his.

Cas is trembling.

He pulls back, just barely. Dean’s eyes are closed, but they butterfly open and he blinks at Cas with a kind of stunned awe.

“Cas?”

In that moment his own name, the one Dean gave him, becomes the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. Cas releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and can’t keep his mouth from twitching halfway to a smile.

And then Dean doubles over with a strangled cry.

“Dean?” Cas says, grabbing his arms, keeping him upright.

“Abaddon-” he gasps out, clutching his stomach, his right arm. “She’s still here. She’s still – inside-”

And Dean goes very still.

“Dean,” Cas says, already going for the ancient blade still viced in his hand. “No-”

Dean’s eyes meet his. There’s an apology there, and a terrible finality. There’s so, so much more.

Dean turns the blade toward himself.

Cas isn’t strong enough to stop him.


End file.
